


we froze down below

by sirenofodysseus



Series: Detriment [5]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, H/C bingo, Hypothermia, Spoilers for S6 ahead!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 6x10. Hypothermia, she recalls, when the body temperature drops below 35 degrees Celsius or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. J/L-ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we froze down below

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my H/C Bingo Square: Hypothermia!

           “How warm do you think Kentucky’s going to be, Jane?” Teresa Lisbon asks Patrick Jane, as she buckles her seatbelt and prepares herself for the rocky landing. It’s the middle of January and she’s dressed warmly in a black parka, expecting the worst from the Kentuckian weather. Jane, however, is not wearing his coat; and Lisbon has to wonder if he believes Kentucky to be somewhat warmer than Texas in winter.

 

            “I’ll be fine, Lisbon,” Jane tells her with a grin, as he also buckles his seatbelt. “I’m obviously built for the cold.” She rolls her eyes, before she hears him laugh. “I had Cho check the weather last night; he said the temperatures won’t drop below freezing.” She feels his eyes on her and she waits for him to comment on her bulky winter attire. “Can you even run in that?”

 

            “If I can carry a gun in it,” she tells him, sardonically, “I can run in it.” She feels his hand on the sleeve of her puffy jacket. “What are you doing?”

 

            “I’m trying to find your arm,” he tells her, as he continues to poke her arm. “I think your giant penguin jacket ate it.” She grimaces and he laughs again. “Oh come on, Lisbon. I wasn’t trying to insult your jacket; I’m sure it’s nice and warm.”

 

            “It is,” Lisbon comments and she watches his grin grows. “What?” She almost wants to touch her face, as she wonders if there’s something on it from the way he continues to stare. “Jane!”

 

            “I’m just wondering if Cho has one of those,” Jane replies and Lisbon eyes him. “I think he’d make a wonderful Kentucky Eskimo” The idea of Cho wearing a parka makes her snort, and he continues to chuckle. “Of course, he’ll have to abandon his shoes…”

 

Lisbon’s grimace deepens. “Jane!”

 

            “Kentuckians don’t wear shoes, Lisbon,” Jane says to her, and she hears someone scoff behind them. Lisbon doesn’t even bother trying to apologize for Jane’s cultural beliefs, as she knows he’s trying to rile her up. “Why else would that little boy have been so eager to remove his shoes in the airport, hm?”

 

            “One, he was five,” Lisbon retorts, remembering the little russet-haired boy, who had vocalized his happiness at being asked to take off his shoes. “Two, he had apparently shoved a frog into his shoe.” She almost winces at the memory of the child’s mother (or grandmother) screaming at her child, for even trying to bring “Mr. Hoppy” on the plane with them.

 

            “I suppose you can’t blame the kid for his happiness then,” Jane replies and Lisbon shrugs. “So, are Cho, Abbott and Fischer meeting us at the airport? I can’t wait to take Abbott coalmining!”

 

Lisbon doesn’t even bother responding to his coalmining comment. “They wouldn’t be meeting us _anywhere_ , if you had just taken off your shoes in the airport.” She’s not even in charge of him anymore and she’s somehow still his babysitter. It’s not even something she can explain to Agent Abbott, who’s probably already planning to deck Jane for his refusal to follow protocol. “But no, you _had_ to throw a fit about the woman in front of us, who got to keep her shoes on.” Jane’s brilliant smile makes her wonder if she just shouldn’t push him out of the plane, long before they hit the Kentuckian soil.

 

Of course, the plane lands before she’s even had the chance to undo his seatbelt.

 

 

* * *

Her phone vibrates before she’s even picked up her luggage; it buzzes twice and she glances down to read the text from Abbott. Jane’s off purchasing a soda (or annoying the airport staff, whichever comes first) and she knows they’ll need to pick up a rental first, just so they can meet up with the other FBI Agents at the crime scene.

 

She places her phone away and waits (impatiently) for Jane to return. He’s already been gone for nearly five minutes and she doubts, even in an airport, that it takes five minutes to find a vending machine as signs hang everywhere with little pictorial information. Bags in hand, she rides the elevator up to see if she can spot her wayward consultant.

 

            “Teresa,” she hears him as she comes off the elevator, and she nearly winces at his _horrible_ southern accident. It had been awful the first time he had tried to use it, and she doubted he had any reason to use it in his two-year absence. “Did you get our luggage?” She narrows her eyes at him, when she realizes they have an audience—a family of four, wearing the faces of Disney characters on their shirts.

 

            “Mommy,” she hears the youngest girl whisper, “he sounds funny.” Lisbon hides her snort in her hand at Jane’s indignant expression. Apparently, he hadn’t thought his southern accent was _completely_ horrible, which doesn’t surprise her. Jane’s always believed himself to be talented in everything.

 

The oldest daughter glances at him, unimpressed. “Is that a real accent?”

 

            “Naturally,” Jane replies with a southern drawl and the youngest girl laughs, before her mother swats at her backside. “If my accent is terrible, then what is yours?” Lisbon narrows her eyes at him. If he has security called on them, she’s going to leave him to his own devices. The oldest daughter rolls her eyes and the family leaves, before Jane can cause any more trouble. “What’s the word on Abbott?”

 

She winces again. “For my sake, Jane, _please_ stop using that phony accent. It does you no favors!”

 

            “I’m trying to speak the native language,” Jane tells her, without his southern accent. She doesn’t respond, as she believes him (and it) to be a lost cause. “Did Abbott tell us we’re riding horses to the crime scene?”

 

            “It’s thirty-three degrees outside and you want to ride a horse now?” Lisbon asks and Jane nods, grinning. “You outright refused to ride one last week, Jane. What’s the difference between this week and last?” She thinks she knows the answer, but Jane _is_ Jane; he enjoys keeping her on her toes.

 

            “We’re in Kentucky, of course!” Jane exclaims and she doesn’t roll her eyes. She knows he’s been outside the state of California, but she wonders if his carnival circuit ever toured Kentucky. “It’s the land of horses, alcohol and coalmines.” Lisbon shakes her head and steps ahead of him. “Where are we going first in this wonderful land of paradise?”

 

            “To pick up our rental,” Lisbon tells him and she hears him groan, which amuses her. “I don’t know why you’re groaning. I’m the one, who has to fill out the paperwork.” She hands him his bag and starts toward the elevator, when she hears him running behind her.

 

            “I might complain less, if you’d let me choose the vehicle,” Jane argues and Lisbon presses the elevator button. “You, the rental companies, the CBI and the FBI must all think we’re five foot three, as the rental vehicles keep getting smaller and smaller. I’m not asking for a Lexus, Lisbon. I’m asking for a vehicle, where I can stretch my legs and not feel as if you’re all purposely trying to cramp up my legs.”

 

Lisbon rolls her bag into the elevator, before she answers him. “If I let you chose the vehicle, we’d have some neon green contraption.”

 

            “At least we’d never lose the vehicle,” Jane offers and the doors close. “Black is an overly used color in vehicles. Why doesn’t the FBI spring for baby blues?”

 

            “I don’t think you’ll ever understand the concept of “inconspicuous” or “under the radar”.” Lisbon tells him and Jane chuckles.

 

            “Probably not,” Jane agrees.

 

 

* * *

 

Against her wishes, Jane picks the vehicle. She warns him about the coloring, about the price range, about the term “under the radar” repeatedly, and he goes with a moderately sized SUV in a light grey color. She’s semi-pleased with the vehicle, Jane’s not complaining about his long legs and everything’s okay, until the skyline becomes a blur of heavy white flakes and dark blue hues after nearly twenty minutes of driving. The traffic isn’t heavy, but she’s not entirely convinced that Jane’s giving her the right directions as he keeps muttering about how hungry he is.

 

            “Left or right up ahead, Jane?” Lisbon asks, as she slowly approaches a fork in the road.

 

She hears the map crinkle, and wonders why the vehicle didn’t come equipped with a GPS. “I’m under the belief you should turn right here. The map reads we’re twenty-five miles from Norse’s Way.” Lisbon says nothing, as she skillfully turns the vehicle right and follows the dark road. Jane’s fiddling with the radio controls (again) and he finally stops, when she smacks his hand away from changing the weather report.

 

            _“…unexpected snow storm. Drivers are being asked to stay off the roads; if they have no business being on them as the temperature is steadily dropping.”_

 

Lisbon curses.

 

            “It’s just some snow, Lisbon,” Jane tells her, cheerfully. “Aside from that, when are the weathercasters ever right? I believe they get paid for just stating the silliest suggestions.”

 

It’s then, on a small and dark road in the middle of nowhere that their vehicle sputters to a halt.

 

Jane’s amused and contents himself to fogging up the window, so he can draw little designs on the glass.

 

She’s pissed and pulls out her phone to call _somebody_ , when she realizes she has no service.

 

            “Look at the bright side, Lisbon,” Jane speaks again, as Lisbon tries to start the car again. “We’re surrounded by beautiful scenery. Tell me, when was the last time you could see the stars?” She ignores him, beating her hand against the steering wheel. “Abusing the rental vehicle isn’t going to get us moving again…”

 

            “Shut up, Jane,” Lisbon replies and Jane goes silent. “I can’t get my cell phone to work; the signal is non-existent up here. What about yours?”

 

He almost looks sheepish by the light of her phone. “I forgot to charge mine.”

 

She curses once more.

 

            “We’re not going to freeze out here, Lisbon. Someone will find us.” Jane replies cheerfully, before he undoes his seatbelt and opens the car door.

 

            “Jane!” Lisbon calls, as the consultant hops from the car (without a jacket) and stomps around in the snow. She hears him laugh. “You’re an idiot! You don’t have a jacket on…”

 

            “Oh come on, Lisbon,” Jane interrupts. “Nobody has died from a _little_ cold weather, besides…”

 

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, as he slips and falls into the snow.

 

Lisbon snorts.

 

            “Serves you right,” she calls to him. “I warned you; the winter is nothing to joke about.”

 

  

* * *

 

Within thirty minutes of him being back in the car, she hears his teeth clattering. His clothes are damp, and she’s concerned. His idiotic move of opening the door has made the temperatures drop dramatically and she hears him moving.

 

            “Are you cold?” It’s a ridiculous question, but making sure he’s all right is her number one priority. She can’t get to their spare changes of clothing and his clattering makes her unbuckle her seatbelt.

 

            “D-don’t be r-ridiculous, Lisbon,” she hears him slur back to her and she immediately unzips her jacket, tossing it over his freezing body. “I’m…I’m…I’m…”

 

            “Bullshit, you idiot,” she mutters, before she grabs at the black bag beneath her feet and feels around for a flashlight. Instantly, the inside of her bag becomes yellow and she moves the light toward Jane. In the yellow light, his skin is ghostly pale and his eyes are closed; she knows he isn’t sleeping, but she feels the need to touch his skin.

 

His eyes open.

 

            “Not sleeping, Lisbon,” Jane tells her and she frowns. “I’m perfectly awake.” He moves slightly, before he turns to stare at her. “Why aren’t you wearing your puffin jacket?” She blinks. “I b-b-bet you’re cold.”

 

            “I’m fine, Jane,” Lisbon responds. She’s dry, he’s not. “I think you need the jacket more than I do.” He glances down at himself, before he smiles slightly.

 

            “I found your jacket…”

 

            “Yes, Jane. You found my jacket.”

 

His eyes close and his action makes her stomach roll.

 

            “Jane?” No response. “Jane!”

 

            “Sleep…” She hears him mutter.

 

            “What happened to being wide awake, Jane?”

 

Silence fills the car; and she _knows_ he needs help, immediately.

 

_Hypothermia_ , she recalls, _when the body temperature drops below 35 degrees Celsius or 95 degrees Fahrenheit._

Lisbon has no idea what Jane’s temperature is presently, but she knows she has to keep him warm. She says nothing to him, as she leans over him and reclines his seat backwards.

 

She says nothing to him, as she uses what remains of her body heat to keep him warm.

 

She says nothing to him, as she holds him close and prays.

 

(After all, she didn’t just get him back to lose him all over again.)


End file.
